


In moon eyes and moon bar

by jarofactonbell



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: M/M, Swimming in a Lake, and the moon, especially the trajectory of the moon, if i did physics i would be able to tell you all the refracting light thing, jilix are soft as HECK for each other, their love is so strong they rewrite the tides, wow i love boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofactonbell/pseuds/jarofactonbell
Summary: mangata(n.) the glimmering, road-like reflection of moon on water | moon bartides(n.) the alternate rising and falling of the sea, due to the attraction of the moon and sun | the telling of their permanencelight(n.) the opposite of darkness; natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible. (adj.) bright. (v.) to make visible, to make things seen | the thing shaping moon eyes





	In moon eyes and moon bar

**Author's Note:**

> I read a poem and realised that I have no separate jilix work so here we are - super short and very sad because I don't know how to write proper words still

J.

 

Air in, dive under. Inside the bowels of the lake, there is only water all about. Eyes hurt, but the numbness, the ticking of the brain, sets in. Tick. Tick

tick

 

Air out. Head up. 

What is it about this water and the subsequent mangata? What? What is there for you to return to?

 

Air in, head above water. He basks in the moonlit face of the lake, swimming in reflections upon reflections. Sun from moon, moon from water.

 

_Breathe easy. Breathe_. Take in air and the lingering cries of leaving loons. Swallow the mangata water whole, to the dying silt.

 

You hold the entirety of the night sky in your slipping palm. When air gets caught in the bubbling things under the river line, you choke on the sounds silencing hair to heel.

 

He basks in the moonlit face of the lake, slicing through the corners of yesterday and the yet-to-form tomorrow, treading today in a sheet of moon-washed murmur. 

He cups the water, lingering on skin and lines carved into skin, drinking in the moon bar.

 

You want to swallow the sight of him, wet strands of shadows and deliquescent breathing. Drink him in until you forget that moon bar stays neither here nor there, a breath away from splintering into threads untouched.

 

He speaks, the sounds leaving him. You catch none of it, syllables and sentences tapping out a rhythm undecipherable for you.

 

Have things been found? Or are you still lost?

  
  
  


F.

 

You time the tick of choked gulp he takes. 

ticktick

 

tick

 

There is a sky between the stone drop space from your moon-soaked skin to his eclipsed eyes. You see the sonnets in his eyes and the odes that he is rewriting - there is no death here, the traditional form abandoned. 

 

He tells you there are suns in your gaze and light in your eyes with the conviction that nothing else stands true but those words and you fold under, acquiescing to his quiet pull. The tides lap at the shores by the moon's decree - to you, he is the moving waters. You rewrite that tale of the moon's hold over water, where certainly it is the fathomlessness that calls for moonlight, reflection on reflection.

 

You lose him sometimes, trapped by the receding depths of lake, untouched by moonlight. There is a whole sky that your voice cannot reach - you can only send lonely crooning in remembrance of a beloved on the wings of migratory clouds, in the hopes that sky is sky and air will sustain him.

 

_ Hey. You still with me? _

 

You want to say more. Speak in a tongue not marred by language. His eyes are half moon, half night. He is almost translucent in the lake’s lapping waves.

 

_ I'm alright, Lix. _

 

J. F.

 

This is truth - two boys swim in a lake in the middle of January. The equator swims in ambiguous lines above and under their heads and in the screaming of cicadas, the night time kisses their skin 

 

This is truth - the moon bar shatters and realigns, different and the same, ephemeral but infinite, everything it is supposed to be and everything it is not

 

This is truth - the moon stays with the tides and goes with the tides - keen eyes can find pieces of shattered moon discs in the pieces of the ocean

  
  
  


 

You worry that there is no permanence - that you can hold him for a heartbeat - 

ba-dump

 

and he would disappear.

 

You worry that you can swim in the mangata water but soon the moonlight will be drained out of your bones and dried from your skin and the dirt will replace it and he too will be drained from your bones and dried from your skin and the dirt will replace him. 

 

Words allow you illusions that will only fracture you into unrecoverable fragments - and he wants to speak.

 

“Oi.”

 

“What, kid?”

 

“You know the story, right? One we wrote for us?”

 

“Tell me the story. I forgot.”

 

“The moon stays with the tides and goes with the tides.” He looks at you with the moon in his eyes and remnants of sunlight in his skin. 

 

“Keen eyes can find pieces of shattered moon discs in the pieces of the ocean.” You murmur, his words in yours.

 

Moon eyes and moon bar flicker and stay and leave. 

 

Are you found?

 

Perhaps not anywhere. But in him, you are.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Can someone teach me how to write English properly please  
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jarofactonbell), [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/jenny_benny) and consider [giving a few tokens to a poor one](https://ko-fi.com/jarofactonbell)


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